Through The Eyes of The Exile
by Yassen275
Summary: "As you would pass judgement on him, I have come to pass judgement on you all. You, who have forever seen the galaxy through the Force. See it through the eyes of the Exile."
1. The Bond

_Images. Feelings. Memories. They swirled around him, one moment he would be flying through the towers of Coruscant and the next he would be looking out over the plains of Onderon. He was then facing a young woman on his wedding day, then staring into the eyes of his new born baby. He was sitting at a desk during his first day of school, and then learning how to fire a blaster from his father. _

Doran opened his eyes. He was kneeling in his tent, meditating. The images were growing stronger now no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. The memories were not his, he had never been married, never been taught by his father. They were the memories of his soldiers, no doubt contemplating their lives and loved ones in preparation for the assault. Ever since his first memory he could feel everything and everyone around him. He could hear their thoughts and touch the gentle feelings of their hearts.

It frightened him.

Doran lived his entire life in the academy on Dantooine. His earliest memory was seeing the academy in all its glory, a testament to the wisdom of the Jedi. As he grew both in age and ability, he could tell there was something strange about him. The Masters showed it the most; they could feel it better than anyone else. In every class, every room he entered their eyes would drift to him and then immediately shift to hide their curiosity. They were watching him closely.

Then the call came. The news of the attacks had already reached the Jedi but they did nothing. As the attacks grew in intensity the Republic begged for their aid but again they did nothing. What were they waiting for? Doran confronted his friend Kavar and demanded an explanation.

"In time, just be patient."

That was all he said. Was that all that needed to be said? Ever since that day Doran thought of that moment often. As planets burned, soldiers died, and the Republic was on the brink of collapse… _in time, just be patient._

What time was there? What could they possibly be waiting for? Had the Jedi suddenly decided that the Republic needed to be overthrown? That perhaps it was best that the Mandalorians ruled the Galaxy? Within the week Malak found him. Revan had had enough and was taking action; he was recruiting Jedi to his cause and was going to save the Republic he said.

Doran remembered the first time he met Revan. It was… strange. Every Jedi that Doran had met he had already heard about once before. He knew their reputations, their habits but when he had met them he had been confused. They behaved completely differently to what he had been expecting. Those who were known for being rash and dismissive were calm and compassionate. Those known for being withdrawn and apathetic were upfront and stalwart. It was almost as if just being there with him was somehow changing them. He could see it in Atris most of all. Everything that was said about her from the other Jedi was completely different to how she behaved around Doran. He couldn't understand it.

Revan was different.

Doran stood among a row of Jedi, all watching and listening to Revan. He had known from the start he would join but hearing the strength of Revan's conviction only ensured his belief. He could feel it, the power that radiated from Revan; it was like witnessing the beating of a suns heart. It washed over him and he revelled in it. But as that power flowed over Doran he could feel himself taking it in… and then it retreated back to its source. The first time he felt this, Revan stalled in his speech. There was a pause. Then he continued like it hadn't happened. But it continued to happen. Over and over he could feel that power flow threw him and then return to Revan like water in a stream.

Had he felt it that day to?

Talking to the other Jedi, Doran knew the others felt the power of Revan as well. It was a continuous source of inspiration that the leader they were following was the strongest Jedi they had ever met. But none of them mentioned anything close to what Doran felt. The way that energy somehow flowed not just from Revan to Doran but back again to Revan was something only he alone felt.

The strangest thing of all was that this was a familiar feeling. It was like it was something he had felt his whole life but only amongst someone like Revan was it strong enough to notice.

Soon after, Revan asked for an audience with Doran. As he entered his room he was unprepared for what he saw. Revan stood there in a simple robe, his mask and armour were placed on a mannequin. To see the great symbol of Revan torn away and the face laid bare was almost unbelievable; like he was seeing a different person. But he could still feel it, that same power.

Revan talked to Doran about the upcoming war. He said it would be bloody, sacrifices would have to be made and in the end they will likely be punished by the Council. He asked Doran a simple question.

Was he willing to make that sacrifice?

His years of training and learning the ways of the Jedi ensured his answer. With a satisfied nod, Revan dismissed Doran. As Revan turned around, Doran couldn't help but feel the connection he had with this being. His mind was like a gigantic wall of Durasteel, completely impregnable and awe inspiring to witness. Doran stood in front of this wall, he felt so insignificant compared to it. And yet…

His mind reached out, he touched the metallic protection… then slowly drifted through it. Almost like it wasn't even there. How was this possible? He caught a glimpse of the being behind the shield, a gigantic vortex of light and darkness churning within his mind. Such furious power that could destroy nations lay behind that wall.

Suddenly Revan turned around and faced Doran. His mind was ejected from Revans like he was hit by a speeder. There was silence between them. Revans eyes burned into Dorans but behind the fire was curiosity. Even with his mind ejected from Revans he could still feel what he was thinking. They were thinking the same thing.

What just happened?

Revan smiled. "I'm hereby promoting you to General. You've peaked my interest Doran. I look forward to seeing what you can do."

Now here he sits on the moon of Dxun, one of Revans most trusted Generals. A title he was still unclear about. Whatever happened that day was enough to either impress Revan or confuse him to the point that he wanted Doran close enough to keep an eye on him. At times it almost felt like he was experimenting on Doran, throwing trial after trial, mission after mission to see how he would do. Every time he was given command of a unit and every time Revan made the point that he was to mingle with his troops. He was never sure why and for what purpose, but he trusted Revans judgement and so he did as he was ordered.

The troops were always surprised when Doran would talk to them. They reasoned it must be because he was a Jedi. Whenever Doran wasn't around they would talk about how noble the Jedi were, how the Republic finally have a chance against the Mandalorians now Revan and the other Jedi are part of the fight. Their admiration was comforting, both to them and to Doran.

Every mission, every attack, Doran couldn't help but think he was not right for this role. He had experienced a shielded, if challenging life in the academy; what did he know of war? Revan had faith in him though; he taught Doran how to strategize, to plan and to anticipate. He did this for every one of the Jedi who joined him but none mastered it as quickly as Doran. The other Jedi noted it was like the masterful strategies of Revan were being concocted by Doran. If an order came through from command that was ingenious the recipients could tell it was done by either Doran or Revan, but could not tell which.

This attack on Dxun was entirely Revans idea though. Doran trusted him; they had pushed the Mandalorians back to the outer rim and were close to ending the war. But after every battle Doran felt less of himself. The death of his troops was slowly chipping away at him. Among the Jedi he was taught how to feel himself through the Force. It was like looking in a mirror but seeing yourself not as yourself. He had mastered this technique years ago but after every battle it became harder and harder to achieve it.

He centred himself and tried again.

Laying in front of him was his double-bladed lightsaber. Closing his eyes once more he reached out with his hand. It was too far away to grasp by traditional means. It did not matter. He could feel the energy that flowed through him and directed it into his outstretched arm. With little effort he pushed the energy out his hand, like he had done so many times before, and it escaped his body. Still attached to him, but free of him. He stretched it out towards the hilt, an invisible hand that twisted and moved like air but completely under his control. Its invisible tendrils separated and spread across the surface of the lightsaber.

His very essence encompassed this small tool, he could feel its every detail; the small grooves, the microscopic scratches, every last component. Focusing, he gently lifted the hilt up and with slow, purposeful movements it spun around Doran. With extreme care, his essence slipped into the minute cracks of the hilt and pushed them apart. The components of the lightsaber separated like a controlled, metallic firework. The glass lens, the power cells and of course the crystal all continued to revolve around Doran. The small casings and components were all so small yet utterly vital to its purpose.

Like small planets orbiting a sun, the shattered lightsaber revolved around its core. Doran was the source of this system, the Force was his gravity, the lightsaber his worlds. The crystal stood out most, that faint silver glow was the same it had been when Doran found it. It was such a strange crystal. It was completely round and smooth, like a polished marble yet had grown completely naturally. Every Jedi he met remarked that such a phenomenon should have been impossible. He had to have it, as a reminder that through the Force even the most remarkable and impossible events can happen.

He brought the parts together now, arranging them in the order he knew so well. The crystal floated before Doran, still, smooth and perfect. The lens encompassed the crystal, the components then wrapped themselves around it. The power cell and emitter shifted to the bottom and top of the hilts heart, clicking into place. Every component, every millimetre of this weapon had to be precisely placed.

Floating horizontally, Doran activated the trigger and the silver plasma shot out its sides and hummed that familiar hum. It brought Doran some calm to know his lightsaber so well. It would not be long now before he would need to use it.

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**A/N: KotOR 2 would probably be one of my favourite games of all time, and after playing through it with the restoration mod I decided to do some writing for it. This will be a story that tells of the Exiles past through his eyes, what he felt, why he did it and if this becomes popular enough I might even do some of the game itself. **

**Comments and criticisms are always appreciated as they help me improve so if you wish to read more of this story just stay tuned. Cheers.**


	2. The symphony

Nathaniel opened the tough packaging around his rations, it was typical Republic army food, about as delectable as a Hutt's spit. But he decided that he couldn't complain, he was alive after all and it wasn't like the jungles of Dxun are the safest places in the galaxy. But Nathanial was only a private, as was the dozen other troops eating around him, their company was leaving for an assault on a Mandalorian base the next morning and everyone was on edge. The plan was to distract the Mandalorians while a stealth and explosive squad slip in and destroy the base. The explosives squad wasn't with them; they had taken a different route through the jungle to slip in from another direction.

Their only order was to survive long enough to blow up the base, essentially… they were expendable.

Everyone knew there would be a lot less of them by tomorrow's dinner as there is now, a dozen Privates against a base of Mandalorians; couldn't get much grimmer than that. It was only thanks to the General that some of them hadn't abandoned their camp… well, the General and the millions of vicious carnivores in every direction.

Nathaniel was cynical about most things in his life, so he expected any leader of theirs to be a useless, secluded coward that would send them off to get killed with no trace of sympathy. He was surprised when not only did this turn out to be completely wrong, but they'd be under the command of a Jedi as well. Whatever they were doing, it must be important.

As Nathanial was thinking about their Jedi General, almost on cue the General walked out of his tent and looked around the camp. His lieutenant, an elderly woman with decades of experience, went up and started talking to the General. While their eating area was too far away to hear what they were saying over the sounds of the jungle, Nathanial could still see the Lieutenants looks of concern. Bad news.

Eventually, the General dismissed the Lieutenant, but Nathaniel could tell that it pained the General to do so. Watching out of the corner of his eye, Nathanial saw the General give a heavy sigh, and then walked towards them. This was something that impressed Nathanial the most, not only did the General talk to them all like people, he even sat and ate with them, almost like they were old friends. He even requested they not refer to him as General but by his name. A strange man to be sure.

As Doran sat down amongst his troops, they greeted him with the typical hellos, many fighting old habits of calling him General.

"Good evening Gener…. Doran," one of the younger troops said.

Doran gave him a simple nod of recognition. It didn't feel right to reply in any other way. The troops continued to eat their rations in silence. He could feel their concern and anxiety even without the Force. He had to decide if he would try and alleviate their worries and potentially distract them for tomorrow's mission, or let it remain and maybe keep them focused. The choice was made for him.

"Excuse me, Doran," said Nathanial, one of the more serious troops under his command, "There's something I'd like to ask if you'll allow it."

"Speak freely, Nathanial."

"You've been a Jedi all your life right?" This was not the first time a troop had asked him about his Jedi past. It was only natural they would be curious, after all it's thanks to Revan and the other Jedi that the Republic is pushing the Mandalorians back.

"That's right, I grew up at one of the Jedi academies," Doran responded plainly.

Nathanial nodded, "What exactly do they teach you there?"

The rest of the camp was paying close attention now, what the Jedi learnt was a mystery to all of them. None of knew what it was like or even what it took to become a student, except that you needed to be sensitive to the Force, whatever that meant. A laugh echoed from one of the tents and everyone turned to see the Iridonian step out. He had been signed on to their squad as weapons maintenance but he kept to himself so much that Doran had trouble remembering his name.

"I don't think the General would be allowed to spread Jedi teachings to those not able to understand, am I right, General?"

"I'm afraid he's right, Nathanial. It'd be fruitless, and even potentially dangerous to tell you Jedi secrets."

Nathanial half-expected this, the Jedi were always so secretive. But as far as Nathanial knew, he wouldn't be here by tomorrow night; he had to learn something about this Force.

'I understand General, and I apologize. I'm just curious about this Force I'm always hearing about. I have no idea what it is." A number of the other troops nodded in agreement, even the Iridonian came and sat down amongst the troops to hear what the General might say.

Doran was silent for a moment. How do you describe the Force to someone who hasn't felt it? It would be like describing colour to a man without eyes. But in his time alone, Doran often thought about the closest possible comparison he could give to the Force. Perhaps it would suffice…

"Have you ever been to one of the orchestras on Coruscant?" He asked, surprising everyone.

"Not personally sir, but I have heard recordings."

"And you know what makes up an orchestra, yes?"

"Yes sir. Dozens, sometimes hundreds of musicians all playing in unison." Nathanial wasn't quite sure where the General was going with this.

"Do you ever focus on any particular instrument or sound when you listen to the music?"

Nathanial thought back to the last time he heard the recording. "Sometimes sir, but I try to listen to the music as a whole."

"It's beautiful isn't it? Every player has a purpose, every note and sound leading into another, leaving with it a lasting trace of beauty and virtue so pure and clear you can close your eyes and be lost in the realm of sound it has transported you to."

The troops were taken aback by this description. Many of them found the music to be quite boring, yet the way the General described it… the music sounded almost magical.

"This is the closest comparison I can think of for you. The Force is the energy of all life, but it feels like more than that. Every individual life is short, fleeting, and in the grand scheme seems almost pointless; much like every singular note in a symphony. But when you step back, when you see all life everywhere and see it play out, echoing into each other… it is beautiful."

The General was almost whispering now, every trooper was leaning in close to him, spellbound by his words.

"All of you here are notes, isolated you are small but you have a purpose in the grand symphony of the Force. You will make your noise, it will seem small and insufficient but you played a purpose that made the music all the more beautiful. One day you will die, but your music will continue to echo throughout the Force."

Doran paused for a moment.

'But the Force itself is not the conductor. It does not direct the flow of the music, _it is_ the music. Sometimes the tone will drop to a darker sound; that is the dark side. It is low, it is dangerous and it is menacing but it is still the music of the Force. The players will change again one day to a lighter sound, a purer sound. Perhaps again it will change but it will always play that beautiful sound. The sound of purpose, energy, life and beauty."

Doran was silent. Everyone's attention was set directly on their General, and many questions lingered.

"But, if the Force is the music of life, then what are the Jedi?" One of the older troops asked.

Doran smiled. "The Jedi are the ones able to hear this music. We can feel where it is pulling and what it is playing and can even change it, if we are powerful enough. But such an act will spread to every sound. Our actions affect the flow of the music more than any other. There are consequences to everything we do; it is something we must accept."

"And if you don't?" Nathanial asked darkly.

"Then we fall. Then our actions spread and cause chaos and disorder to the music of the Force. This is the way of the Sith. To gain as much control over the flow of music as possible but not care what damage is caused to the players."

Nathanial would always picture the orchestra in his mind whenever he listened to that recording. As Doran described the Sith, he saw a man covered in black, leaping into that crowd of artists and perverting the beauty they created. He felt ill.

"That…. is sickening. Who would do that to something so beautiful?" He said with an air of disgust.

Doran shrugged. "There is beauty in even the most dark and disturbing music's of the force. Dark or light, it is still music. But don't be fooled, the dark side is corrupting and dangerous, but it is still a part of the Force."

There was silence for a moment.

The Iridonian then slowly asked, "Does the music ever stop playing?"

Doran looked at the Iridonian for a moment. The thought of the music stopping never occurred to him, as far as he knew the music played forever. Even when the note, the individual ended, the sound echoed on in others. The symphony of life was just too massive, too powerful to completely stop.

Doran told them what they wanted to hear. "No, the music goes on forever."

There was a sigh of relief amongst the troops, everything Doran had told them mesmerised and encouraged them. Some even thought they would live on after they die.

"Is death… a happy experience?" The youngest trooper asked, echoing the thoughts of others.

Doran felt sorry for these men, they believed him to be the messenger of truth, the wisest man in existence that would enlighten them to the mysteries of the universe. How wrong they were. Doran was just a man; everything he said to them was a gross simplification for them to comprehend. He was not capable to accurately describe it, nor would he ever be.

_An average student of the Force… Nothing special… A nuisance… Will lead to the Dark Side…_

The echoes of his old masters words rang loudly in his mind. Doran stood up and looked down at all the men, all of them scared and desperately waiting for his answer. What should he say? He didn't know any more than they did.

"Go to sleep, while you dream you are experiencing the peace of death, only that it lasts forever and you will not be alone." Doran then turned and went back to his tent; he didn't even grab anything to eat. In his place he left confusion, but in that confusion laid a strange hope. As the troops entered their respective tents, they each pulled out a holo-recording and listened to their favourite songs, as they dreamed they pictured themselves as the notes. Formless, small, short; but beautiful and will never be forgotten.

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**A/N: I thought up this description once while on the bus, while I may not be a spirtual person I thought the comparison sounded nice. Hopefully you'll get as much enjoyment reading this story as I do writing it.**

**As always, constructive criticism appreciated.**


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